


Weak Bones, Fragile Bones

by veni



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Ramsay is insecure and weird, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1452688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veni/pseuds/veni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay is much larger than Reek; he finds this terribly enjoyable.</p><p>  <i>Ramsay can span the width of Reek’s bicep with one hand. His grip lowers, and he grasps pelvic bones, brittle and bird-thin. Ramsay presses into the dip of Reek’s hip with his thumb, drawing out a groan. Weak bones, fragile bones; his Reek is such a delicate thing.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Weak Bones, Fragile Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [asoiaf kink meme](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/22142.html?thread=14269566#t14269566) prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _Bookverse Ramsay is a big guy, broader and taller and better-fed than poor Reek. Ramsay gets off on their size difference. His Reek is such a delicate creature, all skin and bones in his lap..._

Ramsay can span the width of Reek’s bicep with one hand. His grip lowers, and he grasps pelvic bones, brittle and bird-thin. Ramsay presses into the dip of Reek’s hip with his thumb, drawing out a groan. Weak bones, fragile bones; his Reek is such a delicate thing.

 

“I’ve got you,” Ramsay mutters. He bends forward, and their foreheads touch. Their breath mingles. “I’ve got you,” he says again. “I’ll keep you safe.” He presses down on the hip bone again and captures Reek’s mouth in a soft, chaste kiss. The tenderness of it is obscene. His hand wanders back, behind, and he cups the slight swell of Reek’s ass. He squeezes, and Reek shudders into Ramsay’s mouth.

 

“You seem scared,” Ramsay breathes into him. “Almost unhappy.” The tone is light but there is a threat there, coloring his words with violence. An executioner’s axe, cloaked in shadow. He knows Reek can see it.

 

A thin, pale hand flutters onto Ramsay’s chest, hesitant. The subservience of the gesture is deeply satisfying, and Ramsay can feel his cock swell; Reek is getting far too adept at pleasing him. “It is nothing, my lord,” the small voice murmurs. “It is just...I am, I’m hesitant, is all. Please. It’s nothing, truly.”

 

Ramsay shifts them, turns Reek around as easily as if moving a child’s doll. He pulls Reek back into his lap; he fits snugly between Ramsay’s thighs, his head tucked into the curve of Ramsay’s neck. He can feel the bump of Reek’s spine against his chest, and the heat of him pressed into Ramsay’s groin. Reek settles against him with familiarity. He does not flinch anymore.

 

“Hesitant,” Ramsay muses. “Tell me, then, what makes my brave Reek so hesitant?”

 

Reek shifts a bit in his lap, but at Ramsay’s hand on his waist, he stills. He remains still, even when Ramsay brings them closer together. His cock, thick and swollen in his trousers, presses against the thin material of Reek’s shift, into the cleft of his ass, and Reek, very wisely, does not shift away. But a small, shrill sound, high in the back of his throat, slips out of Reek. It’s a note of hysteria; the sound of it gives Ramsay a warm feeling, deep in the pit of him. Reek is trying so very hard.

 

“You’re so _big_ , my lord,” Reek admits. He sounds scared, breathless. Ramsay can see his cheeks have become a splotchy red. “All of you.”

 

It is true that the totality of Ramsay is massive; this is known to him in the way that the sun and moon are known to him—mundanely, and without comment, as accepted facts of life. He has never taken particular note of it (outside of being grateful, occasionally, that what his father called _peasant bulk_ has proven so useful to him in his tasks as a lord). It is simply an unacknowledged constant of his existence, a well-used tool at his disposal. But with Reek here, trapped between the muscle of his thighs, pressed against his broad chest, dwarfed beneath him like a pup against a wolf, Ramsay can see the contrast clearly. Compared to Ramsay, Reek is rather slight.

 

His cock twitches.

 

“Big,” Ramsay echoes. And suddenly, _big_ isn’t enough. “I like that. Tell me more.”

 

Reek does not understand; he is not so clever, sometimes. Ramsay is charmed by his stupidity, his dim little Reek. And so when Reek says, “I don’t know what you mean, my lord,” Ramsay does not take him by the throat and throttle him. Instead, he snakes a hand down, down, into the empty place between Reek’s legs, eliciting a gasp.

 

“I _like_ being bigger than you,” he whispers hotly, lips a knife’s edge from the skin of Reek’s ear. “It makes my cock hard.” And here Reek seems to choke. “Tell me the ways I am bigger than you, Reek, my love, and I will be a very happy man.”

 

 _And if I am unhappy_ goes unsaid, but Reek understands. He and Ramsay understand each other very well, in fact, better than any other living things in the Dreadfort. And so Reek plays his game.

 

“You are...you are taller than me, my lord.”

 

Ramsay snorts. “I am no Clegane, Reek. Try something else.”

 

Reek cranes his neck to peer up at him, regards him silently for a moment. Ramsay feels peculiarly vulnerable under his gaze. “You are bigger than me,” he says finally, and then he does something very strange. He takes Ramsay’s hand, the one on his hip, and places it atop his own. Ramsay curls his fingers over Reek’s mangled hand, consuming it entirely within the flesh of his own. “I am nothing compared to you,” Reek says bluntly. His other hand rests high on Ramsay’s thigh, and Ramsay stares at its mutilated form, ghostly white and stark against the black of his pants. And very, very small. “Insignificant,” Reek says. “Breakable.”

 

 _Precious things are the most breakable_. It is an absurd thought but it rings true. Reek is a small thing, delicate and fragile and breakable, and entirely his own. “I’m the only one who won’t break you,” Ramsay says. He speaks against the flesh of Reek’s neck, a murmured assurance. “Everyone else would have. They would have broken you and left you to die, but not me.”

 

“No,” Reek answers softly. “Not you, my lord.”

 

Ramsay feels flushed and drunken by their strange intimacy, here in the half-light, tucked against each other. “You are very precious to me, Reek.”

 

Reek swallows audibly. “I know.”

 

Ramsay’s cock is still terribly hard. He mouths at Reek’s neck, kissing at the pale skin there while he frees himself from his smallclothes. He groans deeply when he takes himself in hand, and he hears Reek’s breath quicken. “Because you have pleased me,” he murmurs, “I’ll let you choose: the floor, or my lap?”

 

Reek hesitates briefly. “Lap,” he finally decides. “If it please you, my lord. The floor is very hard on my knees.”

 

Ramsay grasps Reek about the waist and turns him around. They face each other. Reek is flushed and breathing hard, and he avoids Ramsay’s eye. Ramsay kisses him deeply, his tongue probing the empty spots where teeth used to be. He cradles Reek’s head in one large hand. He remembers the first time they kissed like this; Reek had spluttered and cried and carried on for ages, but now he takes the intrusion of Ramsay’s tongue without hesitation. His small hands clutch at Ramsay’s shirt.

 

Ramsay is absurdly fond of him. “My little Reek,” he whispers, and the body he holds quakes. “Trembling like a maiden.”

 

Ramsay fucks him in his lap, hands clasped around Reek’s thin waist, bouncing him bodily along the length of his cock. Reek buries his head against Ramsay’s neck and moans. Ramsay thinks of brittle bones and split lips, and he bites Reek so hard he can taste blood.

 

When he comes he is buried in Reek to the hilt. And though Reek is as slight as a maid, he is a heavy weight in Ramsay’s arms.


End file.
